Desperation
by oneapotheosis
Summary: Don't leave me.
1. One

**Desperation**

 _"Where is she?!"_

 _"Henry, please."_

 _"Where's my wife."_

 _"Henry. She's gone."_

 _"She can't be. She promised!"_

Henry couldn't breathe, the air continued to rush out, but he was unable to retain a breath. His head pounded and his vision was blurry. Fear choked him - or was it his own fingers… Taring the blanket from his body, Henry lurched from the bed, his hands around his neck. Heaving in a breath, his throat stung and his lungs burned as the oxygen suddenly returned. He spun around to face the bed, the _empty_ bed. He squinted at the bedside clock - _7:24 am_. The room seemed to spin and he couldn't focus on a single fragmented detail. She wasn't there. She _was_ gone. Eyes scanning desperately, he searched for evidence of her presence, clues that she'd been there. He came up empty.

"Elizabeth." He sobbed her name, clutching at his sides with trembling hands.

 _Henry, stop_. He heard her voice, but she was no where in the room. He turned, the bright light shining through the bedroom window blinding him _. Henry, baby. It's okay._

"Please." He begged.

His stomach clenched with dread, and suddenly he felt nauseous. Whipping around again, he stumbled towards the bathroom. Dropping to the floor before the toilet, he gripped the bowl and retched. His entire body fought hopelessly to rid him of the horror deep in his belly, but nothing came. Stumbling backwards, he rushed from the room on unsteady feet. He needed to find her. He heard her whisper in his ear again, but when he looked, no one was there. _Henry, you can do this_.

"I can't! I can't without you." _Yes you can, and you will_.

"No, baby, _please_!" tears streamed down his cheeks as he pushed open doors, desperately hoping to find her in one of the many rooms. Every door he opened that failed to reveal her presence was another blow, like he'd been punched in the stomach. His legs gave way, and suddenly so did the floor beneath him. He was falling. The walls suddenly moved, and his ears filled with a deafening sound. He couldn't hear her voice anymore. He was suffocating. Jolting upward for a second time, he was in their bed again. Gasping for breath, he wiped the tears from his cheeks. Turning to her side of the bed, he found it empty again. Glancing at the clock, it read _7:24 am_. The déjà vu was intense, and the nausea returned immediately. The sheets were saturated with sweat. He jumped out of the bed, staggering towards the door. _Where are you?_ He ran down the stairs, calling out her name. His feet felt heavy, and time seemed to move so slowly.

"Elizabeth!"

She was standing in the kitchen, her back turned to him. He focused hard, trying to determine if she was really there. Relief flooded him, but the incredible fear was relentless, the trepidation that this was all dream weighed heavily. He wouldn't believe it until she was in his arms, until he could hear her voice and feel her warm breaths of life against his lips. She spun immediately upon hearing his panicked tone, worry and confusion evident on her features as she absorbed his distressed nature. Henry's eyes were red with tears, and his face jaded.

"Henry, what is it? What's wrong?" She matched his voice, terrified that something terrible had happened. He pulled her into his arms, forcing the air from her lungs as he held on so tight. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he breathed in the familiar scent of _her._ She could feel his heart racing against her, and the moisture of his tears on her neck.

"You're here." He choked.

Elizabeth tried to push him back so that she could see his face, but he squeezed tighter, not allowing any distance between them. She relented a little, wrapping her arms around him, stroking his hair. "Henry, what's going on?" She needed to know what was causing such distress, she couldn't fathom what had induced his strange behaviour. He pulled back a little, looking deep into her worried eyes .

"Don't go. Please don't go."

She shook her head. "Baby, I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't leave me."


	2. Two

A/N: hey pals, I didn't plan to have any further chapters of this, but I had a little more to say. It may be AU, and honestly, it's not vey nice. I'm apprehensive about it, and I'm not sure if it's okay. Sorry for the shit syntax, I am struggle street  
at the moment. Let me know what you think.

* * *

Elizabeth waited anxiously in the kitchen for Henry to arrive. He was late today, and it wasn't unusual, but she was becoming restless. Her ears perked up, hearing the front door open and then close. Meeting her eyes as he entered the kitchen, Henry have  
her a warm smile.

"Hey." He moved to her side, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

She smiled tightly, wringing her fingers. "How was your day?" She hated the small talk, but she didn't want to bombard him immediately.

"Fine, it was fine."

"Oh… Good. Um…" She took her lip between her teeth, her mind twisting over how to bring it up gently.

"What is it?" He moved back to her side, slipping an arm around her middle.

"This morning, Henry."

He pulled away, moving to sit alone at the breakfast table. "It's nothing, I'm fine." He mumbled, burying his nose in the dated newspaper on the table.

Huffing loudly, she turned to face him again "Don't do that, Henry."

"Do what!?" He removed his glasses and tossed them unceremoniously onto the bench.

"Pretend that everything... That you are fine, when you're so evidently not!" The panic was quickly rising, and she was unable to hide it in her tone. She could feel tears brimming, threatening to spill and spoil her resolve.

"It was just a bad dream!" He rubbed his face, wishing the floor would swallow him at that moment.

"I see what this is doing to you. Our children saw it this morning, for gods sake, Henry!" She hadn't meant to yell, but she was losing him, and afraid he couldn't see the gravity of the situation. "This hurts them too!"

He shot upwards, shoving his chair back, angry now, but unsure of what it was directed at. He strode towards her, staring her straight in the eye. She stumbled backwards, recoiling from the intensity of his gaze. His tone was icy. "You think I don't  
know that!? We haven't given them any other option than to 'cope'!" His words sliced through her, and she winced visibly, the tears finally spilling. "Every damn day I wonder if I'm only on borrowed time with you. Every time you get on a  
fucking plane, I wonder if this is finally going to be it, if we're going to lose you!"

"I'm sorry." She whispered, but he couldn't hear her.

"I can't live like that. I can't live without you!"

-o-

He waited for her to come from the bathroom. She'd barely spoken to him since their earlier argument. He'd not wanted to burden her, but it was clear that she saw straight through him. Part of him, a selfish part, wanted her to take the position as Vice  
President. She would work more, and they would see her less, but she would stay in country significantly more. The risks of her impromptu overseas trips were increasingly prominent, and the thought made him sick.

He rose seeing the door creak open, moving to take her hands in his. "Hey."

"Hey."

He pulled her into his embrace, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. "Baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you." He felt her nod against him, stroking her hands up and down his back soothingly.

"Henry, I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours, forever."

It was his turn to nod in agreement, giving her a small smile. "Be close to me tonight." He mumbled, dragging his lips to hers. She responded immediately, deepening the kiss and pulling at the lapels of his jacket. He needed comfort tonight,  
and she knew it was one thing she was able to give him.

She undressed him slowly, as he did her, taking the time for soft whispers and tender touching. When they lay in the bed, tangled in one another, their bodies moved as one. They were connected physically, but Henry was not present emotionally. He squeezed  
his eyes shut as they moved, afraid in a way to look into her eyes.

His resolve was slipping, and Elizabeth could feel it with every movement. His were rough and lacked precision. She stroked his forehead, trying to get him to meet her eyes, but he buried his nose in her neck. His body was heavy over hers, and she struggled  
to move. His grip on her waist was firm, too firm. She wriggled uncomfortably underneath him, his fingers digging into the soft skin.

"Henry…" She tried to gain his attention, but he was too lost in himself. Reaching between them, she attempted to loosen his grip, but he clawed harder, unaware of his actions.

"Henry, baby you're hurting me." Raising her voice a little.

He didn't relent, he could hear he voice, but not the words she was saying. The pictures wouldn't stop flashing through his mind – his life without her, a dull, broken journey. The aching loss. His instincts took over and he held tighter, unable to let  
her go for anything.

She whimpered in pain, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for it to be over. Slow, warm tears slid down her cheeks; she wasn't sure if they were for her pain, or Henry's. He collapsed on top of her with silent cry, pinning her down with his weight.

When his rational mind came flooding back, he recoiled, releasing her body immediately, realising what he'd done. Seeing her tear stained cheeks, he leaned down, careful not to crush her with his weight and cupped her cheeks. "Elizabeth, baby I'm  
sorry, I'm so sorry!" His hands trembled as he held her face, waiting for her to open her tightly closed eyes and meet his. He drew shaking hands down her body, gasping as he passed the marks he'd left on her skin. "Baby, please look at  
me. Please"

She opened her eyes and saw his own tears. With a pained expression, she pulled him back down to her, cradling him against her chest as they cried silently.

She whispered softly. "I'm sorry too." 


	3. Three

**A/N:** Hey pals. I've gotta be honest here and say I'm really struggling with the writing still, and there's no real plot formed for this story, it's only intended as an exploration of some ideas/ complications in their relationship. I'm sorry if it's watery and short, I'm on struggle street and having to keep it superficial lately. I do hope that it's an okay read and that the ideas make sense. Pleasant (maybe) reading!

* * *

"I think this is a good idea. I'm glad we're here." Henry mumbled, glancing around rapidly at his surroundings.

Elizabeth turned, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Yep." He affirmed, despite the incessant bouncing of his leg, and the way he wrung his hands. He was sure that they needed his, and he wanted to try for her. She deserved that.

"Elizabeth, Henry, please come in." Despite Dr Sherman's even, soothing voice, they both jumped when the door opened.

Henry shot out from his seat, practically running into the cosy office.

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice." Elizabeth smiled, giving Henry a cautious look.

They exchanged pleasantries and engaged in small talk, establishing the relaxed environment. When the silence fell, Dr Sherman looked between them expectantly, waiting for either to make the first step. She decided that the two needed a little push this time, feeling the tension between them.

"So, it's been some time since we've met. What has changed since then? How are you going with finding time for one another?"

Henry steeled himself, taking a deep breath. They were there because of him, he needed to face up to it. "I haven't been coping to well…"

She met his eyes, beckoning him to elaborate. He rubbed his neck nervously, looking to Elizabeth for courage. "I uh… I've been having nightmares."

Dr Sherman waited, allowing them the time to contribute further. When she met silence again, she knew something had changed.

"Henry, if I remember correctly, you've had nightmares previously, and from what we covered, it seemed that you were able to cope well. What's different now?"

He nodded to himself, feeling Elizabeth's eyes on him. "This is different. This… It's about Elizabeth. I'm always having dreams – _nightmares_ that I'm losing her. That I've lost her, that she's—" he cleared his throat. "That she's gone."

"Gone?"

"That she'd died." He finished flatly, lowering his eyes.

The air was thick with his confession, neither knowing what to say or who should say it.

"Why do you think you're having these thoughts?"

He sighed, irritated, wondering why she would ask such a seemingly stupid question. _Why do you think?_ But he composed himself, knowing that he needed to say it. That was the point of this

"Because of her job. Well, not the _job_ , but what comes with it, obviously. The constant media attention, she's a public figure. A political figure. In other words, A target. So is our family." He could hear his voice getting louder, but he continued, knowing it was now or never. "Everything she _does_ is In the media, and _everyone_ who wants to harm her is privy to every single movement. Every god damn trip is a _phenomenal_ risk and it makes me sick!" He was practically shouting, the words spilled from his lips freely and before he had cause to stop them.

When he was finished, the room fell silent again for a moment. He hadn't answered her question, and she was right, he _had_ dealt with this before. He and Elizabeth had. Elizabeth had her head down, a grimace colouring her features. She knew these things, but he'd never said them to her. Her still hadn't said them _to_ her. He met Elizabeth's eyes, seeking courage. "It's affecting our… physical relationship. I physically _hurt_ her—"

"We were making _love_ , and Henry grabbed me a little tight." She interrupted, his guilt was beginning to become her own. It frustrated her.

"A _little_?! Elizabeth, you have—"

"And now, he won't even touch me." She huffed, dropping her hand on his thigh, making him jump.

"You have bruises the shape of my god damn hands on your hips!"

Dr Sherman leaned back in her chair, not daring to interrupt. The progression could only lead to expression of things that desperately needed to be said between them.

"That wasn't _you_ , you didn't consciously do anything. I know you're hurting! I know you didn't mean to." She waved her arms expressively, why couldn't Henry see that he didn't need forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive!

"That's the point!" He was almost yelling now. "I don't know where I am sometimes, I lose myself, and I _can't_ have you near me when that happens. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." She reached for his hand, but he whipped it back immediately. His small rejection stung, and she withdrew her hand timidly.

"You don't know that." He stared at the floor again, willing for it to be over. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

She wasn't sure what stung more: the fact that he wouldn't let her soothe him, or that he actually believed he was capable of causing her greater physical harm.

They both met the eyes of the therapist expectantly. There was work to be done.

-o-

Turning to face him, Elizabeth draped her hand over Henry, drawing mindless patterns against hiss chest. "Henry?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't actually think you could hurt me, do you?" Her belly twisted in uncomfortable knots, the doubt was playing tricks on her mind.

He sighed heavily. "I already did."

"No. That was nothing, and you need to forgive yourself."

He swallowed thickly, blinking back the moisture pooling behind his eyelids. Rolling towards her, he gently took her hands in his. "I don't know."

"I'm not going anywhere." She pecked him on the lips, and he returned her watery smile, mouthing _I love you_ against her.


	4. Four

**A/N:** Hey friends. I'm not sure how and if this fits in, but I was thinking about the story, and the recent episodes and I thought _what if._ I hope it makes some sense and reads okay, I'm just bad at multi chapter stories. I'm also not sure if it's a bit AU for Henry. Anyway, let me know what you think and thank you for the lovely comments previously.

* * *

Henry McCord had never considered himself a risk to his family. He was an intelligent, righteous, and never considered harming another person. Not anymore, at least. He was acutely aware of the irony, given his service as a marine. Although proud to serve his country, he had taken many lives. It was one of the many reasons his interests in teaching lay in ethics and in questioning the morality of duty, especially in military discourses. Despite being proud, he often wondered if it really were any different - if there really _were_ grey areas to taking lives. Whilst not a direct risk to his family, being unable to protect them was one in the same for him. The very duty he'd sworn to uphold, he was unable to deliver, and, in a way, _that_ made him a risk to his wife and children.

Having many marine comrades who suffered from post traumatic stress disorder, he knew all too well the affect it had on the lives on those and anyone around them. He did not place himself in this category, being able to manage his emotions and responses to traumatic stimuli well. What he never did lose was the _fight_ instinct, and despite his best efforts, it remained a part of him that ran on instinct alone.

Striding silently down the dark street, he clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the tightness in his muscles as they coiled for response. Henry was not a dangerous man, but he'd be _damned_ if he was going to let anyone threaten his family and get away with it. Nostrils flared, he breathed in the musk of the dead of night - still and muggy, yet he worse a heavy parker. Breathing deeply, he thought in explicit detail the exact manner in which he would punish the responsible party. The small part of him, buried so deep in the abyss of his conciseness, wanted to find the man and peel his skin, layer by layer in the most excruciating torture. He could picture it now - wrapping his fingers around his throat, squeezing, locking. Feeling the pulse race beneath his fingertips and the colour drain from his face. As there was in everyone, there was darkness in Henry. In a brief moment of lucidity, he heard the voice of his wife, stopping him in his tracks. It was enough. Elizabeth afforded everyone the upmost respect and kindness. She was merciful, and tonight, she saved Henry. If it weren't for her voice of reason, Henry may have done something irreversible to someone who was potentially innocent.

How _could_ he trust in the system? The system that so far had done nothing to reinstate his confidence. It was as simple as a man needing to protect his family, but being instructed to do exactly nothing. Although there would be no regrets tonight, Henry wasn't able to rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth. He stormed through the front door of their Georgetown 'fortress', frustration and helplessness pouring from his posture. He poured a glass of whiskey, placing the bottle down too hard and tossing the liquid back. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the way the alcohol burned his throat and warmed his belly. About to pour a second glass, he jumped when Elizabeth placed her hand on his forearm.

"Hey." She spoke softly.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you coming." He apologised for his acute reaction to her soft touch.

"Where have you been? It's nearly midnight…" she pressed gently, sensing the tension in his face.

"Just um… I went for a walk."

She knew it was a lie, but not a lie of malicious nature. She let it slide, nodding.

Placing his hands on hers, he turned her, pulling her into his arms. He cupped her chin and kissed her softly, letting the comforting, familiar scent soothe him. She responded in kind, moulding her body into his. She tasted the alcohol on his breath, but sank deeper into his kiss still. Like a curse and a blessing, he knew she would get him to talk. A temptress of truth, it seemed, and he was not immune.

Pulling back, he cleared his throat. "You want a drink?" Trying weakly to get her off the scent.

"No."

He nodded. "Wanna go to bed?"

She smiled, taking his hand. Leaving the empty glass behind, he followed his wife. She'd saved him in more ways than one, and on many occasions. He watched her climb the stairs. Her strong, toned legs flexing and releasing with every step.

When they were alone, he let her take the lead. She took care of her husband, making sure he knew that he was loved and cherished. Sometimes the protector needed protecting, even if that protection were simply laying in the arms of his wife. As she stroked his hair, she waited for him to talk. And he did, just like she knew he would.

"Elizabeth, I'm scared." He admitted, swallowing thickly.

Taking a deep breath, she thought before responding. "Me too."

"I have to tell you something." He rubbed his face. Shifting to look him in the eye, she waited for him to continue. "After all of the things that happened… and I _know_ we talked about it, but I… I was just so angry, I…"

"What?" She pressed nervously, sensing his tone.

He sighed again, deciding it was now or never. "I went to Ray Merchant's house, and—"

"You what!?" She shoved herself away from him, sitting upright abruptly

"Wait…"

"Henry, we talked about this! We don't even know he has _anything_ to do with this! You can't—" she shook her hands expressively, furrowing her brow.

"I know!" He sat up, facing her on the bed, raising his hands to try and calm her.

"Henry, what did you do!?"

"Listen to me." He took a breath, rubbing his eyes again. "I didn't even see him, I didn't do anything. I didn't hurt him." She shook her head in confusion, still not sure what he was telling her. "I… I _wanted_ to, but I didn't. I stopped."

"What?" She breathed, still trying to make sense of the information.

Ducking his head, suddenly ashamed, he continued. "I was just so angry, and… terrified, and I wanted someone to blame – someone to _pay_." Plucking at the sheets, he glanced up to make sure she was still with him. Seeing the disappointment and fear in her eyes – this was not his intention. "I'm not proud of it."

She swallowed her disbelief. She wasn't sure it was _her_ husband that was speaking, she couldn't believe that his was Henry talking. "What stopped you?"

"You did. I thought about you. I thought about how kind and forgiving you were. You brought me back to myself, when I was really scared and lost for a moment. I realised that I didn't want to hurt anybody."

Relaxing her posture a little, she reached for his hand, blinking back her tears. It pained her to hear him suffering like this, and it scared her too. There were things he hadn't told her, that much was true, and she thought this might be one of those things.

"But for a moment, I didn't have control of myself. It was this dull, black apathy. I was invincible, and I didn't care who was in my way."

Cupping his chin, she tried to meet his eyes, but he resisted, not wanting her to witness the shame he felt. "Henry, you never told me…"

"I didn't want you to know. I was ashamed. I just feel like I'm always _this_ close to losing you. To losing the kids. I don't know what to do."

"I'm glad you told me." She whispered.

"You're not angry with me? I could've—"

"But you didn't. And you're here now, with me."

He nodded. There was still so much he needed to tell her, that he _wanted_ to tell her, whether he was ready or not. "Thank you." He breathed.


	5. Five

**A/N:** Hey pals. Quickest I've ever updated anything, ey. I stumbled through this one a little, so hopefully it actually makes some sense, because I'm personally feeling a little confused. Thanks RenDot for the sage-counsil. Anyway, hope it's enjoyable and ya don't hate me too much because I'm a hoe for angst, and I _ho_ pefully will get the next bit up this week. Let me know what you think of it.

* * *

 _My buddies and I were dropping ordinance form thirty thousand feet. Now that's a thing, but it ain't Fallujah._

 _"Jason? Alison?!"_ Turning on his heel, Henry strode back into the crowd. The air was dusty and stunk of gas. Didn't he just bring them out? weren't they following? There were too many people, and he struggled to push past them. When he reached the hall it was void of life, the only movement that of the hazy smog that wafted below the ceiling. " _Elizabeth!?"_ He screamed. Sucking in a deep breath, the coarse, sandy mixture scoured his throat and the distinctive irony smell of blood lingered. It made him nauseous.

 _"Dad!"_

He heard Jason's scream. _But mostly the screams._ He heard the panic and the way his voice pitched. Flexing his hands, he tried to return some sensation to the rigid muscles. Moving on autopilot, he sought the distraught sound of his son's voice. Again, and a desperate squeal at best. Kicking aside debris and broken carpentry, he sprinted towards the boy crouched down on the ground. _"Jason!"_ He cupped his face, looking into his terror laden eyes, tears streaming down smudged cheeks.

 _"Why didn't you tell us?!"_ Jason sobbed, his features were jaded, and the heartbreak clear on his face.

" _What? Tell you what?"_ He yelled over the deafening sounds of ringing, burning, cracking - _something_ in the distance.

 _"Dad, it's too late!"_ He cried.

 _"Where're your sisters? Wheres mum?! Jason, talk to me!"_

 _"I don't wanna be like you, but I'm just like you_ …" Jason seethed.

Thats when he heard it, Elizabeth's voice, a dull, weak plea in amongst the chaos. He turned to see her bloodied, golden hair splayed across the floor. It went dark suddenly, the light flashing beneath his eyelids burned and he squeezed harder. What was beneath his fingertips? Soft and warm… _We can get to your family any time._ He heard soft gasping, and his name whimpered again desperately. " _Henry?"_ His vision returned in a devastating rush for the vision of his wife's throat beneath his contracting hand was one that would never leave. Her eyes were fearful yet shallow and he desperately tried to release her, but his grip wouldn't loosen. _Henry_. Her voice was louder now, stronger. _Shit. No no no._

"Henry!"

HIs eyes shot open, and he rolled over violently, swinging his arm and connecting with something hard as he jolted upright. He heard a hiss and a cuss, taking a fraction of a second to register that it was Elizabeth and they were in the bedroom. Time moved slow and he focused on her, sitting on her side of the bed, two fingers pressed against her lip. And blood. A small bright trickle. He threw the blanket back, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees, his head throbbing with fatigue and the sudden rush of blood flow.

"Shit. Elizabeth. Baby I'm so sorry." He reached for her hand, trying to inspect the damage, but she resisted.

"Henry, it's fine. I'm fine." She insisted, wiping a little smudge with her fingertip, wincing slightly.

"Christ. You're not fine. I've busted your lip." He stood and went to the bathroom, retrieving a warm washcloth. She huffed impatiently, waiting for him to stop fussing as he dabbed her swollen lip. It hurt a little, but not nearly as much as hearing him sob their child's name in his sleep.

"Henry."

"I'm sorry. I love you. Please forgive me." He sat beside her, cupping her cheek and pressing kisses to the inflamed area, willing it to go away.

"Stop. I'm okay." She pushed him away slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, and she could see his throat working as he tried to swallow his tears. "I"m sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He cupped her cheek again, using the cloth to dab the small amount of un-clotted blood.

"What was happening?" She mumbled around his fussing.

"What?"

"You were having a nightmare again. What did you see?"

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "It was just about um… The conference. Just the kids. I was just scared because they were all there. I guess I'm still a bit shaken up about it."

"Henry, you were _sobbing!_ You were…"

"I know! I know." He raised his voice a little more than intended, making her jump. He sighed, pulling her close, wrapping her tight in his arms. She relented, falling into his embrace. "Please forgive me." He whispered into her hair.

"It was an accident. There's nothing to forgive. I _love_ you."

-o-

"Madam Secretary, I — oh my god, what happened to your lip?" Blake asked, following her closely as she avoided his face.

Taking a breath, she pressed her fingers against it. "It's nothing, Blake. Henry accidentally elbowed me this morning. It's really fine." She steeled herself, knowing that the small, yet obvious wound would be one of constant question and talk today.

Blake believed her, as she knew he would. The assistant knew the McCords well, and knew that the secretary had nothing to hide, and he _knew_ that Henry was not in any way a threat to her. "Can I get you anything for it? Some antiseptic? Paracetamol?"

"No, thank you." _A makeup artist, maybe_ she thought, but did not say as she knew he could and would make it happen.

"Ma'am?" Daisy approached, her usual face of cautious concern in place. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is _fine_ , Henry just bumped me in his sleep." She smiled curtly, hoping to quell the concerns of her well meaning staff.

The day continued much in the same, the question asked and answered without a hitch, and she was reconsidering the makeup artist. The calm, collected response was quickly morphing into irritation, and she had to consciously keep in check to avoid snapping at the next person to ask. She knew he would be beating himself up over it, and she'd be damned if she let some stupid speculation taint her husband even in the most remote way. For the first time in a while, she was _glad_ that they were scheduled to see Doctor Sherman that afternoon. She was worried about him.

-o-

Henry knew all too well that she would've been bombarded with questions all day, and he too knew that it was merely the well meaning intentions of those working closely with her, but she'd be frustrated and tired of the distraction. They greeted the doctor, and took their respective positions in the spacious office. As usual, Doctor Sherman was the first to speak.

"Elizabeth, what happened to your lip?" She enquired softly, not knowing that she was approximately the twenty eighth person to ask that very question on that day.

Watching her face closely, Henry was able to see the emotions flash in a fraction of a second - sadness, disappointment, irritation and anger and as she opened her mouth to speak, he spoke first. It was his fault, after all.

"I was having a nightmare, and Elizabeth tried to wake me. I did wake, but I rolled over too quickly and… and I accidentally _hit_ her."

Elizabeth stared, slightly shocked that he would offer up the information so willingly, expecting to have to drag words from him. But it was guilt that made him speak. The doctor nodded, looking towards her for confirmation. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

"And why did you want to wake Henry?"

She cleared her throat, averting the eyes on her. "He was…" She turned to look at him. "You were um… You were calling Jason's name. Crying. I can't stand to hear you cry."

He was looking down, avoiding her gaze, his face in his hands. Bouncing his knee in a rapid succession. _Stop_ , _please._ He knew she was speaking, slowly, quietly, describing what she'd overheard, but the exact words he did not register.

 _The noise, the smell, but mostly the screams. The screams. The water is contaminated with a revolting reminder. Don't drink the water._

 _"_ I can't do this!" He barked, pushing himself upright and storming from the room.

Elizabeth knew better than to chase him, and the air quickly became stagnant as neither woman spoke for a full minute.

"Elizabeth, is there something you need to…" Doctor Sherman gently pushed.

"No. It really was an accident."

"Okay. Do you mind if I ask some questions about Henry's past?"

She simply nodded, having a fairly good idea as to where the conversation would lead. Somewhere they'd not really touched on. Somewhere they kept hidden and protected.

The doctor continued. "Henry's first tour of duty —"

"The Gulf War." She swallowed thickly, knowing where this was headed.

"Yes. Did he ever talk to you about it? About some of the things he experienced, or saw?"

"A little. He - he always said that he didn't see the half of it. That he was spared the vision. Spared by the bounds of the cockpit…"

"But?"

"But I'm not stupid. I _know_ he had ground duties, just like everyone else. I just figured that if he wanted to talk about it, he would. But he never brought it up. So neither did I. We were young and… I guess he _still_ doesn't want to share that with me." She slouched down into the sofa, letting the cushions swallow her a little. She broke her eye contact to fiddle with the hem of her blouse.

"Elizabeth, sometimes these things don't manifest in such an obvious way. Sometimes it takes years, even _decades_ for it to surface. A traumatic experience is not one which we can summon and dismiss at will, and you of all people know this. Your family has experienced a disruption, a great _exposure_ of events. I'm not surprised that Henry is…possibly reminded of something he didn't know he was holding onto. Not until now, not until it became a true threat to you and your children."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I… I have to go." She stammered, standing. "Thank you, Doctor Sherman. I will be in contact."

The doctor nodded knowingly. She knew what Elizabeth had to do, having done it herself many years ago.


	6. Six

**A/N:** Thanks for your patience, I know I'm slow. Also I like short chapters, that's just how it works for me unfortunately. Thanks for all of your lovely reviews previously, it definitely is nice to hear what you think. Let me know what you think about this one.

* * *

How had she not seen it before? How could she not've made the connection. Elizabeth knew that Henry was, for a long time, holding onto things from his past. She felt silly now for not having been aware of it earlier. Not everyone who served in combat would suffer from PTSD, that much was true, but often the effects weren't so obvious, and to varying degrees.

She wanted to scream at him, and hold him so tight so he'd never leave. The cool air stung her lip, reminding her of the physical consequences. What more would it take for him to acknowledge it? They were young and naive when Henry first returned from active duty, it simply was not a factor. They were infatuated with one another, convinced that their love was so strong that _nothing_ could stand in the way.

Elizabeth twisted and arced her mind, trying to figure our how his past could possibly have any correlation with the recent security breaches. She also realised that she knew next to nothing about what he'd actually experienced in the war. The trip home gave her a good opportunity to think, and she found herself souring at the thought as the events of the past year lined up.

He was waiting for her to return home, embarrassed and ashamed, armed with apologies and pleas for forgiveness. He had disrespected Doctor Sherman, and he had disrespected his wife. Both of whom where set on the explicit purpose of helping him. He'd injured her, and regret swirled deep in his belly. Sitting quietly in the living room, hearing the door open and then close, he waited patiently, not wanting to overwhelm her in the foyer.

Placing her briefcase down and coat on the hook, her heels clicked steadily as she entered the kitchen. He waited a few moments, before losing his resolve and moving towards the sound of her presence. She had her back to him, bottle in hand as she poured a large glass, staring intently at the rich, dark liquid as it rippled. He waited for her to take a long sip before clearing his throat and announcing his presence.

Turning, she met his tired, dull eyes. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. "I'm sorry." He finally whispered.

Heat washed over her body - grief, regret and then bubbling frustration. She wanted to fall into his arms and accept his apology. It felt so natural, so easy, but something snapped, and she wouldn't stand for it again. He approached her, reaching for her shoulder but she stopped him.

"You're only sorry about my lip." She responded curtly.

He stopped short to look at her, taken aback by her sharp response. "No…"

"Why did you walk out earlier today?" She knew the answer. Well, she had a pretty good idea, but she wanted him to open up. Sipping on her glass, she intentionally avoided his eyes.

"I don't know." He answered too quickly.

She scoffed, the anger was threatening to surface. She was unable too keep the venom from her tone. "You do know." This time, when he moved she followed him.

"Where are the kids?" He asked, sitting at the table, rubbing his face.

"It's two thirty, they're still at school." His deflection only fuelling her fury. "Are we gonna get past this? Because I gotta tell you, Henry, I'm getting real tired of waiting for _you_ to be ready only for you to push it back onto me."

"Get past what, Elizabeth?!"

"This _thing_ with you and losing me and the kids! How much more is it going to take before you acknowledge that this _thing_ might be something to do with Iraq."

"What the hell has this got to do with Iraq?" He was angry now, unable to understand why she'd turned so suddenly.

"Why is it that when something was going on with _me_ I had to be rushed off to see a damn therapist. You're such a hypocrite! I'm not the only one with issues here, that much is clear." She pointed to her lip and regretted the insinuation immediately, seeing the colour drain from his face at the harshness of her words.

"That was an _accident_ and had nothing to do with— "

"You're too busy being shitty with me and my job all the time that you can't even see that this is _exactly_ like Iran!" She was yelling now.

His stomach sank and he spoke suddenly quietly. "This… Is _nothing_ like Iran." He shoved his chair back, striding towards followed his eyes closer as he approached, afraid to move away. "Iran was something that happened _to_ you, not _because_ of you." He spat.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Jesus, Elizabeth. I've destroyed things, families, I've _killed_ people."

"I know that!"

"You don't know the half of it!"

"Well maybe I would if you'd ever talked to me about it."

"I can't! I'm not who you think I am!"

"Well who the fuck have I been married to for the past twenty three years?!"

He stepped closer, so close that she could feel his breath fanning across her face, and placed his hands on either side of her arms. "Everything that I am now is because of you." His voice was calm and steady now. She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. She blinked rapidly at his proximity. "And I need you to know It's _you_ that keeps me here, that keeps me still. I can't tell you these things because… because I'm scared that if I do, you won't be able to love me anymore." He dropped his hands away, looking down at the floor.

She shook her head slowly, confusion and frustration swarming her thoughts, swallowing the lump in her throat. "What?" She croaked. Unable to withhold the silent tears that spilled down her cheeks, she steeled herself. "Well you better find someone who you _can_ tell theses things to, because I don't know how much longer we can do this." She pulled from his grip, angry and hurt, leaving him standing alone in the kitchen.

Taking her glass from the bench, he downed the remainder of the alcohol. Maybe she was right. Henry was always a man that others confided in. He was wise and seemingly had a reasonable answer for most dilemmas. He rarely confided in others, except his wife. There were just some things which he couldn't protect her from. He wondered if she would want him beside her tonight. She wanted him to seek therapy. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was the right thing to do, for them all.


	7. Seven

**A/N:** Hey fellas! Sorry it's been three weeks, I've been a) sleeping a lot, b) reading the Outlander books, and c) mulling over this chapter. This has been quite personal, and PTSD is what broke my parents marriage. Theres a lot of that in here and it's taken a bit to put it to good use. Anyway, I hope it's a good read and I hope it makes sense. As always, I appreciate the lovely comments. Let me know what you think.

* * *

Henry sat alone at the small breakfast table, glass of scotch in hand, and small, rectangular card in the other. It was a dizzying ultimatum. He wondered if Elizabeth would be as disgusted as he was with himself. A hypocrite, in more ways than she meant, than she knew _._ He couldn't _stand_ the irony.

He hadn't spoken to Matthew Harrington since 1993, but the man recognised Henry's voice immediately. So much had changed, and yet their voices seemingly the same naive, hopefulness to them. Matt hadn't been as lucky as Henry. He'd lost everything, including his marriage to the dwindling depths of his mind. Henry asked questions and answered few, but the other soldier had an intuition known to very few. The next day, the small card arrived in the mail. He knew what Henry was asking without having to.

Fortunate in a way that his wife was not, he was able to move freely without entourage and so the long drive was not an unwelcome opportunity to clear his mind. It wasn't that he lacked faith in the process, he could see himself how it'd benefited Elizabeth after Iran, but despite every progressive and emotionally intelligent view he held, part of him felt _weak._ He couldn't visit Doctor Sherman alone. Not that he doubted her ability or professionalism, but he needed to do this independent of the rest. This was his.

What would come of it? What idea could possibly be explored that he'd not already in painstaking depth? He would do this for her. He did not believe that she would actually leave him, but the message was clear and pierced him to the core - _you're hurting us._

 _Casey Hardy._ He hadn't given much thought to meeting another therapist, to having to drag through the securely hidden parts of his psyche to yet another new face. Matthew had noted in the letter that she was very experienced with military veterans. _Veteran_ was not a word that Henry liked to use. To him, it referred to something he felt unworthy of. He was, after all, mostly isolated from direct combat. He wasn't even sure that his _issues_ were related to his service as a marine.

The feeling was familiar as he sat outside the office. Bouncing his knees, he took a deep breath through his hands which covered his face. The waiting room was smaller than Doctor Sherman's, and the decoration plain and outdated, not that it bothered him. It felt local, and cozy. _Hidden._

"Mister McCord?" The voice cut through Henry's thoughts and he jumped a little, looking up to meet kind, knowing eyes. He stood suddenly extending his hand. Casey was a _man_ , and he took Henry's hand and shook it gently. "Casey Hardy." The man was tall with mousy-brown hair, and flecks of grey around his temples. He didn't appear much older than Henry, but his features sang wisdom, if ever there was a characterisation for such things. His accent was faint, but definitely there. _Gaelic?_ He wondered, but as the man continued he further recognised it as Irish.

"Henry. Good to meet you." He didn't know why he'd expected a woman. If he thought about it, it was likely an old stereotype - the idea that men where emotionally closed off, but women were able to draw things from others. Not that it made a difference to him, though. Maybe the stereotype was accurate. After exchanged pleasantries, they sat in the therapists office. It was again plain, but comfortable.

"You're not from here, Henry? I hope the drive treated you well."

"No, Washington." Henry cleared his throat. "Georgetown. My wife is Elizabeth McCord." Casey nodded politely. Of course, he already knew this. Henry continued. "Given your… experience and specialty, I'm sure you know why I'm…"

Nodding again, he spoke quietly. "Possibly, yes."

It was difficult for Henry to divulge to a new person, and he was constantly torn between what information of his past was relevant and what he was _willing_ to share. But as they time moved, he found Casey easy to engage. The mans questions were clearly directional, but not invasively so, and he was clearly familiar with the formula. Strangely, the thought comforted Henry. It eluded to the idea that there was nothing he could say to startle the man - nothing that he hadn't already heard. After several minutes of short, establishing conversation, Casey clearly sought to dig a little deeper. They spoke about Henry's transition between careers and how he'd ended up in government work. Speaking only briefly about his time as a marine, he was afraid that a connection would be made, or some form of connecting evidence that confirmed his fears.

How could something like that be so toxic and after so many years past? There was no doubt that he was proud, and found his served time very fulfilling, but there was also no denying the collateral damage that inevitably came with war - beyond that of opposition forces. As though his fond memory of the past would be tainted by the infectious reality of the present. Through the serpentine of conversation, he found himself telling someone something that he'd not spoken to another soul, for those that were present need not the discussion. The dehiscence of an old wound left him raw and vulnerable.

The journey home was tougher than he'd imagined. Thoughts of things that could've been said - that _should_ have been said. His mind reeled, peeling each topic of conversation back by each layer. Never a self-doubting man, Henry had never worried over his reception by others. It wasn't that he cared what this therapist thought of _him_ , but it was important to Henry for the man to know that he was proud of his past. There was very little that he would change if given the opportunity. And and fraction of the very little that he _would_ change was still very much repairable.

It was late by the time he'd arrived home, well after dinner time. What should he tell Elizabeth? He decided that the truth was a good start. He knew she'd not've waited for him, and considering how he'd treated her lately, he'd not blame her. Approaching their bedroom, he noticed the faint glow emanating from under the door indicating that she was awake. She was reading something, a heavy script of sorts, likely work. With her glasses perched low on her nose, she glanced up at his presence.

"Where have you been?" She asked quietly, looking back down at her text, conscious not to show too much concern.

Discarding his shoes and jeans, he climbed onto his side of the bed, shuffling close so that their shoulders touched. A small, subconscious display of intimacy that was not lost on her. He was silent for several minutes, and she decided that he wasn't going to talk to her, refocusing on her work and letting the hardened features of her face return.

"I saw a therapist today."

She stopped as the words registered in her brain. Slowly removing her glasses, she turned to look at him, a questioning glint in her eyes. "You saw Doctor Sherman?" Not completely understanding.

"No. I.. I saw someone new." Taking the thread of he cotton sheet between his fingertips, he fidgeted whilst avoiding her eyes. Clearing his throat, he continued, filling in the details which he knew she was waiting for. "I spoke to an old friend on the phone, and, well, he helped me out."

"Oh." She breathed, after staring for a moment.

Nodding slowly, he swallowed thickly. Several minutes passed before he spoke again, and when he did, it was but a quiet murmur. "We weren't just in the air, you know." Elizabeth shifted slightly, turning her body so she could see his face under the dim glow of the bedside lamp. He rubbed his forehead, wondering how to continue with only details that were absolutely necessary. "The Amiriyah shelter had taken a hit. Me and a couple other guys were down to take a look around. We thought there was… military activity taking place, the Iraqis,"

"The air-raid shelter?" She pressed quietly.

"Yes."

"I'd seen…bodies before, obviously, you know." His throat worked hard again, and he swiped the moisture forming on his brow. His heart raced as he tried to let his wife into a dark corner of his mind,

Reaching out tentatively, she slipped her hand into his, stroking the back of his with her thumb. His eyes flickered, unable to focus on one spot as he reeled, but hers were steady and she waited patiently.

When he spoke again, his voice was tight and raspy, each word sounding like a struggle. "There was this woman, a _mother_. She was holding a boy in her arms." Elizabeth's heard thumped against her chest. Instinctively, she _knew_ where this was going. She saw it in his face, and it squeezed her chest tight. "He had burns all up his arms, his chest and on his face. He was obviously…" His hand quivered around hers, and she crawled in closer, giving him the comfort of her body. "It was't the _boy_ , it was the way… the way she _screamed,"_ Henry choked back his tears, the emotions still very raw having been exposed in great detail already. Elizabeth was unable to stop hers, and single tear slid down her cheek, watching her husband crumble in the memory of what he'd seen.

Releasing his hand, she threaded it though his hair and pulled him against her chest. He didn't have the strength to resist her, not that he wanted to. She could never completely understand, but knew it was important that she stay emotionally available to him. Stroking his hair softly, she waited for his breathing to steady. He returned her embrace finally, slipping his arms around her slim form and sinking deeper into her chest.

"Thank you." She whispered, and he needn't ask what for.


	8. Eight

**A/N:** Hey guys, quick turn around for me, I know. I just had this in my head and I wanted to get it out. I hope it's enjoyable to read, as I quite enjoyed writing it. As always, please let me know what you think - criticise, analyse - go at me. Thanks for the beautiful comments you've all left, I do appreciate it.

* * *

"Why are you here, Henry?"

"Um, is it not Wednesday?" Henry teased, avoiding the direct question.

The man pressed his lips together, giving Henry a gentle grimace. "No, why are you _here?_ " He repeated, knowing full well that his question was heard the first time.

Henry sighed and crossed one leg over the other. "For Elizabeth. She… She want's me to _heal_ , I guess. It's getting in the way of our marriage."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then are you not here of your own volition?" Casey quirked an eyebrow, placing the brown folder he held on the table beside him and folding his hands neatly in his lap.

"Of course! But I thought it was something that we could solve together, just the two of us. Not with me having to," he gestured to the man before him who simply nodded "You know…"

"And do you believe in the process? In this process?"

Henry nodded. "I saw how it helped Elizabeth, yes. I just think that this is… I can't help but see this as different."

"Because she was never in combat?"

"Yes, _no!_ I mean… My wife went through the war, maybe a different one, but she is not immune to it's lasting residue on our life. Things that happened to Elizabeth, well, they happened _to_ her. She was put in this impossible position, I can't imagine, and I know she hasn't forgiven herself."

"Have you forgiven her?" The therapist prodded gently.

A spike of heat coursed through Henry. _Forgiven for what?!_ But he quickly understood and the same blood that had rushed to his brain flooded quickly away and left him dizzy for a moment. He swallowed hard. "Elizabeth and I are very different people now, to when we were first married. She always had this… this enigmatic optimism, but cautious about it, always." He paused to remember her hair was long and wavy, and her eyes soft, warm and free of regret. Her smile was different. A pang of grief struck him deep as he now saw the cold face of horror she wore on that day - the day they traded Dimitri for something _bigger than him_. He knew she'd tried her best. He knew she wouldn't have come to it if it weren't strictly necessary. And he _knew_ that she did just how much it would wound him, how much it would take for him to stop seeing her face in the inexorable colour of blame. "Yes. I have."

"You've both been wounded. And despite that, you've both remarkably emerged on the other side."

"And yet it's not recent events that plague me, that _pray_ on me in the dead of night. It's one thing to take a single life. It's another to take hundreds and remain completely removed." Henry paused to look Casey straight in the eye, hard and insistent, his voiced reduced to a harsh rasp. "But make no mistake, I regret _nothing_ of what I did for my country. We did what was necessary, and I will pay the price of it everyday, to myself, in my mind. But theres a part of me, and I'm not proud of it - irrational and illogical - that feels like my family is being _punished_ , that _I_ am being punished at their expense. That an any point, they're going to slip between the cracks - and why not!? I'd deserve it!." He finished with a loud sigh, sinking back into the sofa and looking away.

Casey took sever moments before responding, choosing his words carefully. "Henry, your wife and children are not _civilians_. Be wary not to treat them as such. Your _wife_ is not some stray lamb."

And he was right, she definitely was not. She was a lioness, who at times shared strategy with the wolf. But so was he.

-o-

Tonight it was she who was last to return home. Approaching quietly, she found him in the kitchen, pouring a glass of whiskey. He flinched at first but quickly relaxed as she slid her small hands over his shoulders. Without a word, he reached for a second glass and poured it for her. The say on the lounge facing one another, but on opposite ends, silently sipping and catching fleeting glances.

"Did you see Hardy today?"

"Mhm." He hid his face behind the glass again. "How's Will?"

"Fine. He's fine. They flew out this morning." She raised her own glass, her hand trembling slightly and causing the single cube of ice to rattle against the edge.

He watched her closely now, tracing the lines that'd depend of her features over the years. He was right, she had changed a lot, and a lot of the optimism of her youth had been lost. Her eyes flickered around the room, focusing on anything but the man in front of her. There was something new though, and he noticed. Her yes were slightly wider than usual, and her nose crinkled in the slightest way, as though she were holding back a sneeze.

"Elizabeth." He spoke lowly, and her eyes rose to meet his. "What's wrong?" Her lip quivered and he suddenly felt incredible guilt as he remembered. She'd told him a few days earlier, about what her and Will spoke of. It was just another blow to her identity, another event to add to the ever changing lines of her features. He reached out to her, taking the glass from her hand and placing it along his on the coffee table. "Baby, I'm sorry." He cooed, trying to pull her closer. She relented, but only a little, allowing him to bring their shoulders together at the very least.

The sound of her swallowing was audible, and he knew she was holding back tears. When she spoke, her voice was hushed and thick. "It just _feels_ like every time we get to a point, a plateau, that there's _something_. Something just has to happen and change it all, take me off of my feet. We're not who we used to be, Henry."

He nodded, a little pang of fear struck him and he wondered fleetingly if she _could_ read his mind. "No. We're not." His voice was low and husky, and he swallowed his own tears.

Their eyes met, and the way she looked at him stirred something deep inside. Something buried and repressed as he saw a glint of their old selves. She stared back, and he felt her closeness and the heat of her breath fanning across his face. " _You_ are a lioness." He rasped. Leaning in suddenly, he bumped their noses before capturing her mouth. It was gentle for only a second before he gripped the back of her head, pulling her into him and forcing her mouth open. She released a guttural sound and he needed no further indication to continue. Tears rolled down his cheeks, wetting hers hotly, but he didn't stop. He pushed her down into the cushions, his hands hitching her skirt up and roughly parting her legs. Her own hands were just as urgent and she fumbled with his belt buckle.

Releasing hoarse sounds, they moved in crude, graceless familiarity. He tried to lose himself within her, to let himself be totally consumed by her but she sought the same escape. Raking his back with harsh nails, she fisted his hair roughly, determined to elect some reaction from him to confirm the scalding fear she felt. In a fleeting moment of clarity, he saw her face - flushed and reddened but both passion and tears of deep grief. Lost somewhere in their haste, she was on top of him and within moments, collapsed against him in complete exhaustion. Her quiet sobs amongst heaving for breath shattered his soul, and he could do nothing but hold her close and hope that they were able to heal one another again.


	9. Nine

**A/N:** Hello friends. Long time yes. I'm so very sorry that I take so long, I can only hope that it's worth the read after such chaotic intervals. Thank you so _so_ much to everyone who's still reading. I'm still amazed that people _want_ to read it, and so I appreciate your comments and if you don't comment, I still appreciate you. I hope that this chapter will provide some closure and you'll find it an adequate end to a confusing idea. I must thank Adi for listening to me whinge and bouncing my ideas, and miss Kristina for pressure cleaning my writing (I'll be calling on your for beta in future). I hope it's not too 'wrapped', after all, with a topic like this, I could hardly rinse and repair. Anyway, thank you all for the support, and I hope you find this acceptable. Let me know what you think!

* * *

"You sure you're okay with this?" Elizabeth asked tentatively. Henry noticed the way she wrung the end of her loose blouse.

"Of course." He smiled, prying her tense hand from the fabric and replacing it with his. "You're a part of this. Of me. I _want_ you here." He was grateful for her presence, and as he breathed in the subtle, floral scent of her perfume, his mind eased a little. She was more important than she realised. Her damp palm relaxed in his, and she returned his smile.

He pecked her quickly on the lips before the office door creaked open, and Casey Hardy stepped into the small waiting area.

"Henry, good to see you." The man shook Henry's hand warmly.

"Dr. Hardy, this is my wife, Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth." The smile met his eyes and he shook her hand. "So good to finally meet you."

"You too, Dr. Hardy."

"Casey is fine. Please, come in."

The sat quietly beside one another on the small sofa, their hips touching. Henry was reminded of the first time they attended Elizabeth's session together with Dr. Sherman. She was quiet for most of the session, answering questions when appropriate and maintaining a reassuring presence for Henry. He knew she was observing. Sometimes there were questions or subjects which directly involved his wife, but she didn't show any outward signs of unease. He was honest and spoke freely, and only hoped that she would forgive that honesty when it came to matters of their personal relationship.

He held her hand on the long ride home. She was staring out the car window, her eyes distant and her grip loose. Right as he'd made up his mind to speak, she did. "I didn't know about… a _lot_ of those things. I mean, I _knew,_ but not like that."

He nodded, pushing a deep breath through his nose. "I'm sorry you had to hear some of that. The more gruesome things, anyway."

"I'm sorry you had to see them. Baby, couldn't you have _told_ me this stuff'?" She pulled his hand into her lap which he let her have, fidgeting with his long fingers and actively avoiding his eyes.

"I didn't think violence and devastation would be terribly romantic," He attempted lighten the air. "We were so young, Elizabeth." He remembered returning from his first tour of duty, back to his new wife in their first home, the elation and complete joy of returning to her almost enough to smooth out the fresh grooves formed upon his soul. _Almost._ He squeezed her hand and turned to gaze out of the window, catching the flickers of light on the street-lamps as they passed.

She spoke so quietly that he almost didn't hear her. "I wouldn't change it if I could, you know?"

He paused for a moment, giving him a brief interim to consider if _he_ would. "Nor would I." If it were a very specific set of circumstances that led them to where they were now, he would certainly not change a thing.

-o-

Elizabeth attended exactly one more session with Henry. She hadn't wanted to interfere. At least, that's what she told him. He wondered if she was uncomfortable with the idea of him discussing his past in relevance to recent events. After all, they'd both been through a lot in such a short time. What _did_ Henry want to achieve? Casey had asked him the previous fortnight and he'd been giving it some thought. Did he want things to go back to how they were before? How _were_ things before? At least now the tension was visible instead of a brewing conflict just waiting to explode. No, he didn't want to go back to that.

He was glad to be back behind a desk — for now, at least. It gave him time to restore throughout a workday and allow his mind to perform its necessary maintenance. As much as Henry loved intellectual challenge his job provided, he enjoyed the occasional peacefulness of having an office again. It gave him time to think about his family, his marriage, and what he wanted in the future.

Reclining back into the plush leather chair inside of his White House office, he crossed his hands in his lap, twisting his silver wedding band absently. The air smelled of closed ventilation, but it wasn't unpleasant, and the soft scent of the cedar bookshelf and desk cast a subtle aroma in the small space. It reminded him of Sundays in church.

Things between him and Elizabeth were different now. He knew all to well that people changed, as did their lives around them. They weren't the same. They'd never be. Some things just couldn't be overlooked. They needed to consider what was best for their children, whether that be taking a step back from their professional lives, or personally.

He wondered if she thought about leaving him. _Don't be ridiculous._ But isn't that what she'd said? He wasn't the man she'd married, and neither was she the woman who he had. For a man of such varied and liberal ideology, he couldn't decipher if it _did_ matter. He suddenly felt the pressure — as though his own mind were a confessional — the scent of 'cathedric' timber became suffocating.

-o-

Suddenly, the two hour drive to see Dr Hardy in his small Charlottesville office seemed cruel, and he glanced across to see an exhausted Elizabeth. Her head leaned against the window, knocking quietly against the glass as she slept lightly. He unclipped his belt and slid to the centre seat, gently pulling her upper body to rest against his, effectively cushioning her head on his shoulder. _How many times I've held you against me there._ Her hair was soft and smooth, it cascaded down his neck and chest. It was long again, like it was when they first met.

As the SUV pulled to a stop, she began to stir. He watched her squint into the afternoon light, adjusting to the glare. The recognition dawned on her face, and he squeezed her hand.

"Henry, what are we doing here?" She mumbled. "Aren't we seeing Dr Hardy?"

"Not today." He smiled tightly.

An agent opened the passenger door and she climbed out, Henry in tow. The air was thin and the small breeze brought with it the earthy scent of red cedar. She closed her eyes and pointed her nose toward the sky as though she were testing the weather. He took her hand and led her down the footpath that connected to the small carpark which was overcrowded by the motorcade.

He took long, ground covering-strides, and Elizabeth struggled a little to keep pace with him. "Henry…"

"I stopped seeing Casey Hardy four weeks ago."

"I.. What?" She glanced back, seeing Matt on her tail, but far enough for some privacy.

She recognised the place suddenly as they approached the thinning channel of the small river that ran adjacent to the footpath, lined by timber park benches and now modern looking street lights. She could smell the water now, earthy and thick, yet not unpleasant. It reminded her of the farm.

He turned suddenly, almost causing her to collide with his jacket-clad body. Tossing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw another agent flanking them. _As_ alone _as they'd get._ "Do you remember this—"

"Our first kiss," She murmured, still taking in the surroundings.

He smiled faintly, a little winded by the brisk air, and released a heavy sigh. "Yeah." The autumn leaves gave contrast and vibrance to the otherwise green-washed landscape. Even the water had patches of lilies and algae, blurring the border between land and liquid. The hazel browns and reds that had fallen to the lush grass contradicted the chilly air. It was beautiful, just as he'd remembered it, but so very different. Time had transformed the landscape, much like their relationship, he thought coincidentally.

He pulled her to sit on one of the benches, dusting the fallen leaves from the surface before she sat. She giggled to herself, and he gave her a questioning smile. "When you brought me here, you spent the first five minutes pointing out every single tree, bird and leaf and their scientific names."

"I wanted to impress you." He smirked.

"You did. But you only impressed me with your ability to be a quick study. I _knew_ you couldn't care less about tree genes and foliage families."

"Well, theology wasn't a very _cool_ thing for a young man to show off."

"Neither was botany." She laughed.

He laughed with her. "I guess not."

A silence fell over them again and her smile faded. "It looks so different now. The river, I mean. But, in some ways, it's exactly as I remembered. Not that I was paying much attention to the _nature_."

He plucked her hand from her lap, running the pad of his thumb over the shinning silver of her wedding bands. "I've been thinking, about us."

Her heart sank at the words. Nothing good ever came from that phrase. Her belly tightened as she braced for whatever it was he needed to say. He'd been distant lately, and much colder than usual. She wasn't used to it. So she simply nodded, swallowing the thickness in her throat.

"With all that's happened… I never pictured _us_ like this. I thought we'd settle, you know? I thought we'd have each other during those times of fear and hopelessness, but the truth is, we're the _cause_ of it for each other a lot of those times." He could feel her tense at his words, and wracked his brain to find the right ones. _Get to the point, damnit!_ "But it's like this place, you know. It's so different, some parts are unrecognisable, and sure, this bench doesn't look like it could hold a single extra pound of weight, but it's still beautiful!" His grip on her hand was tight and the stones in her rings dug into the soft flesh of his palm.

She was facing him, listening intently, but her eyes were a little glassy. She wasn't seeing his point. "It was so much simpler before, Henry," She whispered, and he brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, the sun shinning through the pink skin making it seem transparent in the light.

"It _is_ simple!" He raised his voice passionately. "I don't _want_ 'before', I want right now. We're completely different, but I wouldn't change a god damned thing." She recoiled a little at his use of words, never knowing him to use God's name outside of passion, and noticed the bright flush that reached the tips of his ears. It wasn't the cold. "Elizabeth, I want you as you are, right now. I want us. I want our family, our kids. I'll take the nightmares, the cold sweats, hell I'll _take_ the medications."

She was quiet, caught in the intensity of his stare. She needed to swallow but her brain wouldn't allow it. She jumped as he spoke again suddenly.

"When I look at you, I do see the pain and disappointment. I see your fear, _mine_. But that's not _all_ I see."

The wind blew a tuft of her light hair over her nose and she squinted, blowing it away with pursed lips. "What else do you see?"

"Everything that we were when we met, but more. You're still frighteningly intelligent, gorgeous and one hell of a mother." He reached to cup her cheek softly and she leaned drowsily into his touch. "I know you've seen enough for a lifetime, and that parts of you have been damaged… lost even, but I don't mourn for who you were. I rejoice in who you _are._ I see our kids, and I'm so incredibly proud of our family. Part of me wonders, if it weren't for the exact turn of events, whether we'd have such great kids, or whether we'd have them at all. I couldn't imagine a world like that. Without them. Without you. And it's okay that we've changed, because we've changed together."

He could see her throat working as her mind raced, but he couldn't stop the words as they fell from his lips. He'd been shutting her out for too long."I don't care if you break my heart one hundred times over, or make me sick with worry, as long as it's _you._ I'll have you, this, all of it, but babe, will you have me?" he puffed, slightly winded from his testimony, and waited for her to speak.

She squinted, and he could see she was shielding forming tears. "Yes, I'll take it." She whispered with a gentle nod, and the tears did spill. There was no fix for some of the marks on their relationship, and their was no cure for the lasting memory of terror. She knew that well, but he was offering himself. He was promising to try, and she believed him.

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight, pressing his cheek against hers which gathered her hot tears. "This is what I want. And I'm sorry." He whispered into her ear.

 _Sorry._ He meant it, and she knew it.

Opening and closing his mouth several times, he decided on quiet, knowing that he owed her a least a little recovery from his soliloquy. She sat quietly too, tilting her nose to the air and breathing. She looked like a deer, he thought, long and graceful, beautiful but also sharp. Like a deer testing the air and deciding the security of its surroundings by scent and sound.

"Thuja Plicata," He said, emphasising the _t_ with a flick of his tongue.

"What?" She raised a thin brow in question.

He gestured to a tall tree several feet away with a nod of his head. "Or 'Juniperus Virginiana'" He added with a smirk. She snorted loudly, letting the stupid grin spread over her face. He leaned in and touched his lips to hers, unable to stifle his giggle. "And I'm just getting started…"


End file.
